Last December, I shoved them into their boxes in a blur of
heartbreak and survival mode. A year ago, I was drowning. And I’ve quietly
dreaded opening those boxes ever since, afraid they’d pull me backward into a
version of myself I’ve outgrown but still grieved.
But it didn’t go that way.
This time, I opened the first lid in the quiet of my new
home... my safe little sanctuary... and instead of dread, something warm rose in my
chest. A ribbon slipped out from the top and fluttered onto the floor, and just
like that…not pain, not a punch, but gratitude.
A single tear slipped out, slow and honest.
It felt like growth.
Like letting go.
Like a new breath in a brand-new life.
Maybe it was the safety of these walls.
Maybe it was the softness I’ve finally allowed myself.
Maybe it was simply time.
But in that moment, something in me opened... and all the past
versions of me stepped forward, as if they had been waiting for this exact day.
The Little Girl...
The beautiful dark-haired girl with the galaxy-wide eyes and
that impossibly big heart. She’s been visiting me a lot lately. I used to tell her to be careful... don’t trust everyone, don’t
give your energy to people who don’t deserve you. But recently, the conversation changed.
I started noticing that she still has dreams.
She still has hope.
She still carries our joy.
She still sees the world with wonder—wide open, curious,
unafraid.
And suddenly I didn’t want to protect her from the world
anymore.
I wanted to protect her spirit within me.
The Preteen...
The girl learning that the world can be cruel. The one who lost her grandfather. The one who first learned that her body, her appearance, her
size somehow mattered to other people... and that their opinions could alter her
entire experience of being alive. We’ve been talking too. I used to tell her, “What they say doesn’t matter. Just smile and keep going.” But that was never the whole truth. Now I tell her, “Let it sting if it has to—but don’t let it stay. Their
opinions do not follow you into the life you’re building. Love yourself
fiercely. To your very core.”
The Teenager...
The spunky teenage beauty who never quite fit into the world
she was given. Who felt like Alice, always nibbling on the cake to make
herself small enough to fit through doors never meant for her. We still talk, usually through music and memories. And I
tell her now: “You were never too much. The rooms were just too small.”
The 20-Something New Mom...
Oh, this one is tender. The young woman terrified of messing up, terrified of not
being enough, terrified of the weight and wonder of motherhood. The one who felt abandoned because she stepped into that
role. Left to figure it all out alone. To her, I say: “You were never abandoned because you weren’t worthy. You
were abandoned because they weren’t ready. But you did it anyway. You grew wings you didn’t know you had.” She still cries sometimes. But now, she also smiles.
The 30-Something Rebuilder....
The woman who had to start over—again. Who stepped up, moved forward with responsibilities, disappointments, debts,
dreams… all while holding a brave face in public and a breaking heart in
private. She fought her way through years of storms that should’ve
drowned her. She learned how to rebuild a life from scattered pieces no
one else could see beauty in. To her, I say: “You were not starting over. You were starting toward.”
Back to the Present Moment...
By the time I placed the last ornament on the tree, I
realized something simple and stunning: I wasn’t just decorating a home. I was welcoming back every version of me who never had one. Those boxes didn’t hold memories of heartbreak. They held proof of survival. Proof of becoming. Proof of a woman who has grown into someone strong enough to
hold all her past selves... and still create a future worth stepping into.
This year, the decorations didn’t break me.
They reminded me who I am becoming.
And I think… maybe that’s the real magic of this season.
Not the lights, not the tree, not the glitter... but the quiet realization that I am finally,
truly, home!
